RACHEL

Sleep won't come. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning with everything that has happened. Marco has just discovered that his mom—the mother he thought was gone forever— isn't dead. She's alive, but someone else is behind her eyes. Trapped in a nightmare. I can't begin to imagine what that feels like, what it's doing to him.

Memories start surfacing. Marco's mom was more than just a neighbor; she had been there for me when I was younger, in ways my own mom couldn't always be. I remember her warm, easy smile, the way she'd come home, throw her purse onto the kitchen counter, then ask us what we were up to with a playful suspicion, like she knew we'd been up to no good. She'd make us brownies, letting us pile in as many chocolate chips as we wanted, laughing as we fought over who got to lick the spoon.

Then there was that time I broke my arm trying to jump out of the treehouse. I had been so sure I could make it, like some little superhero. But instead, I hit the ground hard, pain flaring up instantly. My mom was still at work, and my dad didn't live with us. I remember Marco's mom—how she came rushing out, helped me clean up, kept me calm, and stayed with me until my mom finally showed up at the hospital. In those moments, she was the mom I needed when my own was too busy or distracted.

And then, suddenly, she was gone. I remember the day everyone thought she had died. The funeral. The emptiness in their house that felt like a cold echo. I wanted to comfort Marco, but how? None of us knew what to say or do. Marco seemed so small, like a part of him had been taken away that day. I wanted to reach out, to find the right words, but they never came. He was my friend, and he had just lost one of the most important people in his world. I couldn't understand the depth of it, but I knew enough to feel the weight of it.

Now, after all that, his mom is back… sort of. But in the worst possible way.

I let out a long sigh, feeling the ache of it all, then push myself out of bed. I throw on a hoodie over my pajamas, tiptoe downstairs, and make my way to the kitchen, hoping a glass of water will help clear my head. As I sip, I glance out the window—and there, lying in the hammock in his yard, is Marco. He's staring up at the sky, completely still, like he's miles away.

I know he probably needs space, and I'm hardly great at the sympathy stuff. But I can't ignore the pull to go out there. Behind all that sarcasm, Marco is a caring guy. If the roles were reversed, he'd be here for me, wouldn't he?

Taking a deep breath, I slip on my shoes and step outside, walking quietly across the yard toward him. The cool night air wraps around me, bringing a slight chill that contrasts with the warmth of my earlier thoughts. As I approach, I see him lying back in the hammock, his hands tucked behind his head, and hesitate for a moment, unsure if I should disturb his solitude.

But as I draw nearer, I see the tension in his shoulders and the way his gaze flickers with a mixture of wonder and sadness as he looks up at the stars. I can tell he's lost in thought, perhaps grappling with everything that's happened. I stop just short of the hammock, unsure if I should say anything or simply let him be.

"Hey," I call softly, breaking the silence. "Mind if I join you?"

He turns his head slightly, his face shadowed in the dim light. For a moment, his eyes—dark and tired—hold something vulnerable, before his trademark grin slides into place, a little crooked, like it didn't quite fit anymore. "Sure, just don't mess up my zen vibe."

I smile back, relieved to see that spark of humor beneath his pain. I settle onto the edge of the hammock, trying to gauge how he's feeling. "Can't let you have all the deep thoughts to yourself, right?"

"Fair enough," he says, letting out a breath that seems to ease some of the tension in his body. "It's just… everything is so messed up right now. One minute I'm living my life, and the next—bam!—my mom's back, but it's not really her. I should be overjoyed, but she's trapped by that… that monster. It's like I got my hopes up, only to have them crushed again."

"I can't imagine how hard this is for you," I say softly, trying to meet his gaze. "But you're not alone in this, Marco. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he replies, but there's a hesitance in his tone, a shadow of doubt that lingers in the air between us. "But it's not just about me anymore. It's about her, too. I don't even know how to help her."

I shift a little closer, the hammock sways, and I feel the gravity of his words. "You'll figure it out. You always do. We all will."

He looked at me then, his expression softer than I expected, and in that moment, I felt something shift between us. My breath caught in my throat, and I could've sworn my heart skipped a beat. It wasn't just his gaze—it was the way he seemed to be looking at me, like he was seeing something new. But before I can think too much about it, he shrugs, pulling away slightly. Not the time to be thinking that. "I'm not so sure. I mean, I've been avoiding this whole fight for a reason, Rach. I don't want to lose anyone else."

"Running away won't help," I say gently, my voice steady. "You know that. This isn't just your battle; it's all of ours. We need to fight for the people we care about, especially your mom."

Marco sighs, looking up at the stars again, as if they hold the answers he seeks. "Maybe, but it feels so different now. I used to think I could just play the part and make it through. Now it's real, and I—she's alive, but she's not herself. Death may have been better than this… I can't help but think that if she'd stayed gone, maybe I could've accepted it."

I reach out before I can stop myself, my fingers brushing the tense muscle of his arm. The contact was small, but it sent a ripple of warmth through my hand, up my arm, and into my chest. I felt the quickening of my pulse as if my body was reacting before my mind could catch up. I wasn't sure if it was reassurance I was offering him—or something else entirely.

"We'll figure this out together. We are going to get your mom back. And Tom, and even Mr. Chapman. I promise you."

We sit in silence for a while, the weight of the night hanging between us. I keep my hand on his arm, a small gesture of solidarity. There's no easy way to navigate what lies ahead, but being here with him feels like a step in the right direction.